


the half of my heart

by BellaCorvo



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, The Half of It (2020)
Genre: Agatha is Paul, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Baz is Ellie, Gay, Love Letters, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Pining, Pining!Baz, Simon is Aster, Simon is good with words, Writing, based on ‘the half of it’ (movie), but only when writing, deNiall, slightly ooc agatha, will be trigger warnings before hand though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27036973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaCorvo/pseuds/BellaCorvo
Summary: Dear Simon,Okay, you caught me. I sometimes hide behind other people’s words.For one thing, I know nothing about love.I’m 17, and I’ve lived in Watford my whole life. I hang out with my friends, Minty and Ginger. I ride my horse and it feels like flying. At school, I keep my head down. I’m a simple girl.Which is to say, if I knew what love was, I’d quote myself.From,Agatha-—-Baz Pitch lives with his Aunt Fiona in Watford, a small religious town. They don’t have a lot, and Baz’s father isn’t exactly inclined to help. To keep the lights on, Baz started writing papers for his classmates. Reports, essays, short stories, whatever they needed.When Agatha Wellbelove, a horse loving girl with eyes you could drown in, asks Baz to write a love letter for her, he needs the money.Things get a little more complicated however, when he realises who he’s writing to:Simon Snow.- — -Loosely based of ‘the half of it’ (which is an excellent movie).
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 13
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

”The Ancient Greeks believed that the humans once had four arms, four legs and a single head made of two faces. We were happy, complete. So complete that the gods, fearing our wholeness would quell our need for worship, ripped us in two, leaving our split selves to wander the earth in misery, forever longing... longing... _longing_... for the other half of our soul.  
It is said that when one half finds it other, there’s an unspoken understanding, a unity, and each would know no greater joy than this. 

Of course the Ancient Greeks never went to high school, or they’d realise we don’t need the gods to mess things up for us.” - Ellie Chu


	2. In the beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, there is some pretty heavily implied homophobia here. We do not stan Malcom. At all.  
> Please be careful while reading, if it sets anything off in you, take a break and take care of yourself.
> 
> This hasn’t been beta’d at all, and it’s 1:26 in the morning. Please don’t judge me. If you have any edit suggestions, feel free to comment them below. I’d welcome the help.  
> Love,  
> BellaCorvo

**Baz**

  
Jim Butcher once said: “When everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you without flinching -- they are your family. ” 

Turns out my family were the ones casting me to hell in the first place.

When you’re little, you don’t know how your life is going to turn out. Sure, you have dreams and ambitions (I wanted to be a rock star, to play with David Bowie), but you don’t realise how much one moment, one minuscule slice from the saga that is your life, can send the story spinning in a wildly different direction.

My moment was when I was 14, a week before my 15th birthday. Dev and Niall had come over to celebrate during the midterm holiday, and Dev had snuck a bottle of vodka from his mum’s cabinet. We passed it around, pretending that it didn’t burn the back of our throats, acting like we were invincible. The alcohol buzzed through us, made us feel as though we were floating on a cloud of endorphins. We played truth or dare. Niall had to dip dye his bangs purple. Dev told us about his first kiss (it was Phillipa Stainton, behind the gym)(my cousin is a high school stereotype). The worst thing I had to do was let them put little pony tails in my hair.

Dev had to leave early, his mum wanted him home to prepare for some high tea or party or whatever she had planned now. Dev’s mum was the social butterfly of Watford, always ensuring that the church calendar was full of gatherings.

After Dev left, Niall and I kept passing the bottle, and kept playing the game.

“Aight Baz, truth or dare?” Niall asked, take a small sip before handing the bottle over.

There was no way I was going to let him get revenge for the hair dye.

“Truth.”

“What would your perfect girl look like?” His head was tilted to the side, as if he was asking more than just what he’d said.

I felt my stomach squirm. He couldn’t know. I always made sure to talk about girls the same way he and Dev did, made sure that I never slipped up, never let on that I didn’t see girls the same way.

“Well,” I said coolly, trying to be flippant, “that’s not hard. Soft brown hair, that curls a little, but not a lot. Gorgeous brown eyes that catch you like honey does a fly. Gentle hands, that never…” I trail off as Niall’s (impossibly soft) hand reaches towards me, to grab the bottle. I hadn’t meant to do that, hadn’t meant to describe _him._ He peers at me with those beautiful honeyed eyes, and I’m trapped.

“It’s your turn to ask, Baz,” he said, his voice soft, almost questioning.

“Right,” I cleared my throat. I was being ridiculous. “Truth or dare Niall?”

“Truth.” There’s no hesitation in his voice, no hint of worry. It’s like he knew what I’m going to ask him, and he’s ready for it. _I_ didn’t even know what I was going to ask him yet.

But maybe I did.

“If you could do anything right now, with no consequences, what would you do?” 

“I’d kiss you.” _Oh._ Something flitted through me, something warm and light. I found myself leaning forward, towards him.

“Then do it.”

And he did.

The kiss was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was warm, and soft. His hands were in my hair, and mine were pressed to his back. It felt like everything was right in the world. It felt like an A on a test, and a winning goal, and the perfect note, all rolled into one. It felt like maybe this wasn’t a sin, maybe this was heaven. Maybe the church minister had gotten it wrong. Maybe this wasn’t unnatural, maybe this was life. Nothing that felt this _right_ could possibly be wrong.

And then my father walked in.

><

“Get your lazy ass up. I’m not taking you to school if you’re not ready in five.”

I groan. I love my aunt with all my heart, but on mornings like this I could throttle her. Despite the fact that her shift doesn’t start till 2 in the afternoon, she _insists_ on being out of the house by 8. I roll over to look at my clock. It’s not even 6:30. What the fuck. Guess I’m riding my bike to school. It better not be bloody raining.

With a groan, I drag myself out from under the warm covers. Bloody Fiona. She knows I can’t get back to sleep once I’m up. I swear to God, if there isn’t coffee ready when I get to the kitchen, I’m going to curl up and die.

I stumble my way through the house, still barely half awake. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have stayed up for most of last night reading. I really only meant to read a chapter or two, but before I realised what was happening, I got so caught up in the story that I finished it. It was this gorgeous tale of two guys who are paired up on this random app because they’re both going to die that day. They meet, they fall in love, they die. It’s poetic and painful, and I loved it.

Fiona is in the kitchen, blaring some song by The Offspring that she’s been obsessed with lately. Thank god she’s already poured me a cup of coffee. I take a greedy sip before recoiling. “Did you put _any_ sugar in this?” I growl. “It tastes like fermented piss.”

“Poor baby Bazzie,” she mocks, “Heaven forbid your coffee actually tastes like coffee. Drink up darlin’ because that’s the last we’ve got.”

I grimace. Payday isn’t for another four days, and we can’t afford another tin of crappy instant coffee. It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. I hope.

“Ah well. It is what it is. Now move your ass, unless you want to be late for your first day back. I’m out.” She tips back the last of her coffee in one go, and walks out. 

Fuck. I remember now why she was up so early. She got a job interview at the music store, and I didn’t even wish her luck. I feel the familiar coil of guilt in my stomach. She wouldn’t need a third job if it wasn’t for me. She wouldn’t even need a second job if my father acknowledged I existed anymore.

I shake my head, dislodging the thoughts before they can take root. I don’t have time for hatred and loathing right now, not when it’s my first day of senior year. I drain my coffee, and go about getting ready. 

It is not a good morning. I drop my shampoo bottle and the lid breaks, spilling the cheap supermarket brand goo everywhere. Then I bang my elbow when I go to pick it up. When I get to my room, I remember that I needed to ask Fiona this morning to call the power company. I don’t want to interrupt her interview, so I guess I’ll have to do it sometime today at school. Great.

After stubbing my two twice, and almost dropping my phone, I finally make it out the door. I wheel my bike out of the shed, grimacing a little at the way the handlebar squeaks. Fi got it from a garage sale a year ago, and it works pretty well, but I’ll need to oil it this afternoon. I add it to the constant list in the back of my mind. 

Then I’m on the road, Queen pounding through my earphones, the wind rushing past my face as I pedal as hard as I can. This is my favourite part of the day, when I’m alone, when I don’t have to worry about the next payday or what my father thinks of me or how we’re going to afford rent this month when I still can’t get a job and the bloody Church keeps raising the price. 

I can’t afford to lose my shit right now. Not this year.

Not when I have a chance, a good chance, of getting valedictorian. My only competition is Bunce, my main distraction Bunce’s best friend. Simon Snow. The (adopted) son of Pastor Davy (Pastor Dickhead is what Dev, Niall and I call him)(we were twelve when we came up with it, don’t judge us). The kindest, most selfless, most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. He’s like a bloody Disney prince, all smiles and bronze curls and freckles. He hates me. I think I’m the only person he genuinely hates.

And I’m hopelessly in love with him.


	3. Highschool Never Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week?!? Clearly I'm procrastinating.
> 
> Exams are coming up soon, so my updates probably won't come too fast, which is why I wanted to get this one out ASAP.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, I am over the moon!
> 
> Enjoy,  
> BellaCorvo xx

“In case you haven’t guessed, this is not a love story. Or not one where anyone gets what they want.” - Ellie Chu

**Baz**

Music is always one of my favourite classes. I'm the only piano player in the grade, meaning I always accompany the choir. Pastor Davy conducts us. I think he's a pretentious twat, but I can admit he knows what he's doing when it comes to allocating parts. There's only so much you can do with the highschoolers you find in a small town, yet they sound pretty decent.

As Pastor Davy counts us in, I watch the choir. To be specific, I watch _him_. Snow. The sunlight seems to twirl through his bronze curls, make them glimmer. I wish I could run my hand through them, muss them a little. Make him seem a little less perfect, a little more real. I shake my head, snapping myself out of it. I'm being ridiculous. I focus on the music, and play the intro.

As one, the choir begin to sing.

_“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high_

_There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby”_

His voice is sweet and clear, noticeably better than those around him. I could listen to him sing forever, and never lose interest. 

_“Oh, somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue_

_Clouds high over the rainbow, makes all your dreams come true”_

His eyes drift close as he sings. He always loses himself in the song. It could be a church hymn or a pop song. If Simon sings, Simon _sings._ It's as though he just blinks out, becomes the melody. I've loved watching it happen for as long as I've known him, even at the start when I was a prick to him.

The song finishes, and as the final notes reverberate throughout the room, I see when he comes back to his body. As the choir sits down, Pastor Davy starts blathering on about the Winter Talent Show. We've heard it all before. Mandatory for seniors, a last hurrah, do something interesting. Blah blah blah. I’m dreading it somewhat, but that's more because I know my father will be there. Not to watch me of course, to watch Dev. Family first: the Grimm motto. Unless of course, said family is into guys rather than girls.

Whatever. Father can do what he wants, I dont care anymore (a lie)(I care deeply, I just pretend I don't). Pastor Davy keeps droning on, but no one listens. I look around carefully before pulling a folder out of my bag. Without looking, I pass it to the guy sitting next to me, Gareth. He flicks through the folder before taking out the essay with his name on it, and then passes it along to the next person. My phone buzzes in my pocket. Good. That means I've been paid for the essays. It might not be honest work, but it gets me money, something Fi and I are in short supply of. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the folder reaches Phillipa Stainton. She's the most popular girl in school. Rich, pretty, loud, and dating the town's golden boy, Simon Snow. He's sitting next to her, scribbling something into a notebook. The bells rings, jarring and loud. He packs up the notebook, and walks out the door hand in hand with Phillipa.

><

**Agatha**

_“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high_

_There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby”_

The words float through the open window of the music room. I hear his voice, beautiful and sweet. I think I love him. I just don’t have the words to say so. My tongue gets all tangled when I speak, but when I write the words seem stupid. I need someone else. Someone good with words. I remember how Minty was having trouble with her history essay last week. She got someone to write it for her. Maybe I could do the same, but with a letter.

The bell rings, and I hurry off to find Minty.

><

**Baz**

Miss Possibelf is by far my favourite teacher, and English is definitely my favourite subject. Today we’re looking at No Exit, the french play about Hell. It's interesting enough, but I've read it before, and I much prefer The Good Place as an adaptation than the movie we have to watch from 1962. Instead of watching, I use the time to work on a short story for Rhys to hand in for his next assignment. Three pages, approximately 1500 words. The only prompt was “blue”, and he wanted something deep. It's almost pathetically easy. I write about a child suffering from depression, and how as it gets worse, everything around him turns blue, and as he learns to cope, he starts seeing other colours again. Not my best piece of work, but it will definitely get an A. An easy $20. If it’s not an A, they don’t have to pay, simple as that. It ensures repeat customers, and besides, I like the writing. It's cathartic in a way.

Class finishes as I’m writing the final paragraph. My timing couldn't have been better. As I pack up, Miss Possibelf waves me over. 

“Six separate takes on Plato’s theory of love. Impressive.” She says, raising an eyebrow at me. She knows about my little side hustle, but never turns me in. Says it's because she doesn't want to read the actual essays they'd write. Fair enough. They’d be horrible.

“Just the one.” I reply. Even though she knows, I can’t just admit it. Too risky, and I need this too much to take that chance.

“If you say so, Basilton,” she shakes her head. “If you say so.” She slides a piece of paper over her desk to me. 

I shake my head at the Mummers University application. “Nope. We’ve talked about this. I'm going to Munsky.” Munsky is significantly less prestigious, and definitely cheaper.

“Damn shame. Mummers is the best there is.”

“Damn full ride. Plus I can stay at home and help out my aunt.”

“I spent the best four years of my life at Mummers.”

“And yet here you are, right back in Watford.” I begin walking out the door. “Don't get fired overnight.” I call over my shoulder.

><

Lunch time. Finally.

I grab my food from my bag and head out to the oak tree where Dev, Niall, and I always sit. I’m the first one there, as per usual, so I crack open my book (this one’s about wizards who live at a boarding school)(one roommate is in love with the other, it's sweet).

Dev will take his sweet time, and Niall always stops to chat on his way over. He’s aggressively nice. It’s disgusting. That’s probably why we didn't really stay together, we’re too different. We work way better as friends anyways.

“There he is!” I look up to see Dev striding towards me. “The man, the myth, the legend. Tyraaaanuuuus Pitch!”

“What the fuck, Devlin.”

“Don’t be a grump. I haven't seen you all holidays, and I missed my favourite cousin.”

“Don’t let Mordelia hear you say that.” He knows me well enough to realise I'm not just joking anymore. I desperately want to know that my half-siblings are ok.

“She’d throw a fit for sure. She’s stubborn now, and mean.” Thank God for Dev. He knows that I can't just ask, yet he still told me anyway. “You don't need to worry about her.” He throws himself to the ground, a smidge dramatic if you ask me.

“I wasn’t,” I sniff (I was). “How were your holidays then?”

“Ugh. Boring. I was stuck at stuffy church functions the whole time, and had to listen to Pastor Dickhead go on and on about salvation. I’m just about ready to throw myself into Hell just so I don't have to listen to him.” 

I feel bad for Dev. It used to be me who was dragged to those functions, but since I was disowned, he’s been made the Grimm ‘heir’. 

“That’s rough buddy.” I know him well enough to realise that a bit of teasing is exactly what he needs right now.

“Shove off you prick.” He laughs, elbowing me. “Where’s Niall anyway?”

“Hell if I know. Surely you’ve seen him more recently than me.”

“Nah, he had to cancel for some reason.” Niall was meant to stay at Dev’s for the last week of the holidays. “I think I might go look for him. He’s probably chatting to some new kid.”

“Aight. I'm going to stay here, I just got comfortable.” It’s a lie, but I can see that Dev is clearly anxious about something. I’ll give him the space to tell me when he’s ready. He walks away without another word, and I get back to my book.

  
  


The sun is warm against my skin, and I find myself no longer focusing on the words in front of me, but rather just enjoying the peace. Until-

“Hey Baz!”

I glare up at the cheery face above me. Gold blonde hair, big brown eyes, perfect smile. 

“Wellbelove.”

“I need your help with something,” she trills. “Minty said that you’re really good with words, and-”

“What class is it for?” I interrupt. “It’s $10 for three pages, or $20 for three to ten. I won’t do anything over ten.”

“What? I’m not trying to cheat.” 

“No one is. What’s the topic?”

“No I - here.” She shoves a crumpled sheet of paper at me, a small blush racing its way up her face.

“What’s this?”

“A letter.”

“Who the fuck still writes letters these days?” I take the paper.

“I thought it might be more romantic.” I unfurl the paper. 

Shit. Nope. No way.

“I’m not helping you write a love letter to Simon Sn- to some guy. A letter like that is meant to be personal, authentic.” I stand up. This is ridiculous.

“I can pay, I have heaps of money saved.”

“The answers no, Wellbelove. Get a thesaurus, use spell check. Good luck.” 

“I can pay more for authentic!” She shouts. I walk away.

  
  


><

_“A team member will be with you shortly. We thank you for your patience.”_

My teeth clench in frustration at the sound of the cheery prerecorded voice. I have been on hold with the power company for the last hour and a half. My afternoon is a free period, and I’ve spent all of it waiting so I can organise this damn bill extension. I've managed to practice my piano piece for the Talent Show, sign up for said show, work on another essay for Phillipa, and I’m _still_ on hold. 

I stand up from my spot in the library, stretching. The school day is almost over, and I need to get to my locker now if I want to avoid the horror show that is the Watford High corridors. The upbeat hold music is driving me insane. I’m just about ready to throttle someone. I hurry from the library, distracting myself with thoughts of how I was going to make Phillipa’s essay different from Gareth and Rhys’. If I reordered the arguments, and possibly introduced a new paragraph in Phillipa’s, it should be enough to - _BAM!_

I'm on the floor, my books scattered everywhere. A shooting pain in my wrist tells me that I've landed on it wrong. I look up, trying to reorient myself. A glimpse of sun kissed freckles makes me freeze. Fuck.

“What the fuck, Tyrannus?” Snow’s pissed. “Can you watch where you're walking?” He must have thought I slammed into him on purpose. Surely by now he's realised that I haven't tried to get into a fight with him since we were 14. Christ, he’s thick. 

“Sorry.” I don’t think there’s anything else I can say. _‘My apologies Simon, and while we’re here, may I take this opportunity to confess my undying love for you’_ probably won’t go over well.

He huffs angrily, but for some reason still helps me pick up my books. God, why is he so painfully kind. The last thing he does is hand me my phone. Shit, the power company. I jam it to my ear, listening for the tell tale sound of overly cheery music. I don't hear it. Great. Now I have to start all over again. 

I turn to Snow as he walks away, frustrated. “My name is Basilton.”

“Yes, we know Mr Pitch.” Fuck. The power company was still on the line after all.

“I’m calling to talk about a bill extension.”

“Unfortunately you are ineligible for another extension. We require a minimum payment of $50 by tomorrow night or we will shut off your power.”

Fuck. All the money I got from the essays this morning went towards the water bill. How the fuck am I meant to get $50 that quickly? 

I hear a laugh, high and tinkly, like a fucking fairys. Wellbelove.

I stalk around the corner. She’s standing there with her friends, Minty and Ginger (both repeat customers). 

“One letter, Wellbelove. $50. Then you’re on your own.”


End file.
